


A Dream is A Wish Your Heart Makes

by CelesteArius



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Angst, Elf Sportacus (LazyTown), Fluff, Hey guess what I'm back after a year, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Pining, Reconciliation, and nonexistent self esteem, best wingman 10/10, happy dream, robbie has a dream about sportacus, robbie has issues, sad reality, sportacus has a dream about robbie, stephanie is awesome, this has the sad things you were looking for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:52:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteArius/pseuds/CelesteArius
Summary: Robbie doesn't sleep all that often, and when he does, it's rarely deep enough to dream. And he's never had a dream like this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this.  
> I blame Tumblr for pulling my adult ass back into the hell that is my favorite childhood TV show, and making me see it through a shipping lens.

Robbie didn’t sleep often. It was mostly as a result of his insomniac nature, along with the nature of his numerous self-destructive tendencies, but it certainly didn’t help that there was so much _noise_ now. In the good old days of Lazytown, the quietness of the outside world meant that his unnatural sleep cycle was never interrupted. He would stay awake to the dawn, sleep well into the afternoon, and have the cycle repeat itself indefinitely. That was how it _worked._ Or, at least, how it used to.

Now that that infernal elf was here (seemingly to stay), beginning bright and early there was just _too much noise._ He would doze off nearing six in the morning only to be awoken a few hours later by screaming children at play, that elf bouncing along with them. It was annoying, to say the very least, loathsome at the worst. Did they not realize how sensitive his sleep schedule was? It was difficult for him to stay asleep in the past, any noise waking him from his uneasy rest. Now, a fitful four hours was the best he could manage at once.

He didn’t understand why they just wouldn’t let him _sleep._ The circles under his eyes had become much more prominent over time, nearing the resemblance of bruises. And yet, regardless of how tired he was, sleep would never come. He had quite the imagination, and it was useful most of the time, but when he was wanting to sleep and his brain just _wouldn’t shut up_

Sometimes it was unbearable.

He thought, maybe, just maybe, if he worked out these rampant fantasies – these certain textiles or the elaborate schemes to rid this town of so much noise (namely that elf) – he would be able to sleep at night again. Just maybe.

So, as it was, he hardly ever dreamed, and even when he did sleep, it was so fitful and broken up that a dream never really had time to set in. But sometimes, especially when averaging twenty hours a week in sleep, sometimes his brain blessedly shut down. If he was too tired to think, he was usually able to knock right out, actually managing to get a full night’s sleep.

All of this was within the realm of usual possibility.

But the one thing that he wasn’t expecting was to wake up in the sun and the grass, in the clean crisp air with the blue sky and clouds stretching above him. It was surprising considering the fact that he wouldn’t be out in the open like this, usually, especially not in the sun like this. He was too pasty; he burned and usually ended up uncomfortable for several days afterward.

What was more surprising was discovering that he wasn’t alone. He discovered this when he realized a hand was holding his, and when he brought his arm up, he saw that his long, pale fingers were intertwined with shorter, tanner ones. A patch of moving blue caught his attention, and turning his head brought him face to face with none other than the elf, Sportacus.

 _He’s handsome,_ he finds himself instantly thinking, and can’t find it in him at the moment to be embarrassed.

And he is. There’s his blue eyes that are always sparkling with humor and kindness, his tender smile and his tan skin and his brown blond hair and those blue eyes, and his blue eyes and that’s all he could think about all of a sudden.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Sportacus said with a smile, a hint of gleaming white teeth in the sunlight. His eyes were squinty and bright and warm and tiny crinkles formed at their corners. And then the elf was wiggling and scooting just close enough to plant a kiss on his mouth.

He should have freaked out, realistically. He should have gotten up and ran far away, even if he hated the thought of running in any sense. But instead, he finds himself saying, “Did I fall asleep?”

“Just for a bit,” the elf laughs, and the sound makes Robbie’s face warm. “You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“If only you and those blasted children thought like that every day,” Robbie retorted, rolling his eyes, and for some reason it makes the elf laugh again. And that… makes Robbie _smile._ It _should_ feel foreign to his face – he doesn’t smile often, he wouldn’t be used to it – but it feels so natural that he doesn’t give it an extra thought.

“You know you love them,” Sportacus responds, and then he _rolls on top of him,_ his elbows planted firmly on the ground on either side of Robbie’s head. It’s surprising and Robbie reflexively puts his hands to the elf’s forearms, wanting to use them as leverage to push him off. But that isn’t what happens. No, instead of pushing the godforsaken elf off, he’s finding himself fighting back the smile that threatens to appear on his face. Moreover, he finds himself getting quite distracted by the muscles underneath his fingers, and wants to explore more. Wants to rake his hands down the elf’s chest and his ripped abs, explore every inch of his toned body. “And you know you love me.”

 _Love you?!_ he wants to scream, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise up from deep in his stomach and take over his cheeks. But he finds himself saying, “I do,” with a grin on his face that feels less malicious and more sincere. And the blue of the elf’s eyes are so deep and they draw him in and then suddenly he’s being kissed, right on his mouth. Panic rises up in his throat, but it quickly fades as the pressure of the elf’s mouth shifts, and his arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him down closer to him, to where their chests are touching.

“I love you, Sport,” he says, and it comes out as more of a wistful sigh against the elf’s mouth. He opens his eyes to see him smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly again. Everything about him suddenly seems so soft and the strength of his shoulders is so solid and anchoring, and he finds himself really wanting to kiss him again.

“I love you too, Robbie,” he responds with that lovely accent and honey voice. And the warmth and happiness in his heart is almost overwhelming and chokes up his throat. And he’s smiling so wide that it hurts his cheeks and Sportacus’s chest is still pressed to his and the he’s so warm and comfortable and there’s something soft and fuzzy against his cheek and

he’s opening his eyes and orange fur is stretching out beside him. And it’s unusual that he’s waking up like this. So comfortable and with lingering happiness and warm and he just dreamed that _he and Sportacus were dating –_

Robbie shoots up from his chair, so quickly that he becomes disoriented and looks around wildly. He’s alone in his bunker. There’s no grass or sunlight or clean air or clouds skidding across a blue, blue sky. There’s just his dark bunker with concrete floors and metal stairs, with dusty air and grey ceilings. But the worst part of it all is that he’s alone. There’s no one holding his hand, no elf smiling at him or laying over top of him and kissing him and saying that he _loved him –_

Usually, this would be relieving, but right now, it makes him feel so much lonelier than he ever had. It had tears springing to his eyes and then he was digging his fingers into his unkempt hair. Why would he dream of something like _that?_ The slim possibility of ever being involved with that ­impossibly problematic, _beautiful_ elf was just –

It was something he… that he wanted.

So now he was embarrassed and lonely and his recollection of the press of Sportacus’ lips and the feeling of his muscles beneath his clothes was beginning to fade. All Robbie could do was grasp onto the fading tendrils of the memory of the most pleasant dream he’s ever had, wishing desperately for it to have been reality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have I done??? This is continuing??? More gay pining???  
> Yes. There's more.

Sportacus has a constant sleep schedule. He was in bed by 8:08 and asleep by 8:09, and rose the next morning awake and refreshed. A good night’s sleep was the secret to his energy, he had once told the children, and even if that had been only a part (a well-balanced diet and exercise helped as well), it was nonetheless true. An interrupted sleep schedule left him exhausted during the day, as was evident the night he spent with that disruptive softball given to him by Robbie Rotten.

Robbie Rotten. There was something about him. For all of his malevolent intents, they never resulted in physical harm to anyone. More often than not, his schemes usually ended up in himself getting into trouble or danger, and Sportacus would be the one to save him. It was an odd twist of the stereotypical story arc; the villain always caused trouble for the hero to fix, but in their case, the hero even saved the villain. That was perfectly fine for Sportacus; he loved being able to help people, even if that meant saving them from a situation they had caused.

Robbie was inherently awkward, in more ways than one. He was tall and lanky, not as agile or dexterous as Sportacus was, but it wasn’t just a matter of his frame. He was awkward regardless of the social situations that he found himself in, and, more than anything, Sportacus wished he was able to fix that. He wished that he was able to show Robbie that he didn’t need to feel so awkward in public, and that he was more than welcome to join him and the kids in whatever they were doing, so long as he didn’t try to cause any trouble.

But there was something else. Something that had taken Sportacus a while to notice, but once he had been in Lazytown long enough, and had been around Robbie long enough, it was easier for him to identify. Inherently, he was awkward and usually anxious socially, but more importantly than that, he was _lonely._

Sportacus was a slightly above average hero. His life was dedicated to saving people. He could save them from falling ladders, or trees, or from the occasional time machine falling back down to Earth from the height of his airship. But what was all this worth if he couldn’t save someone from loneliness? Oh, he’d thought of all the ways he could go about it, but Robbie wasn’t one of the kids. Robbie didn’t like him. Robbie didn’t think that his hyperactive personality was endearing, he thought it was annoying. If one of the kids were lonely, he could talk to them or spend time with them, figure out what was wrong and solve it with a few wise words and a dance or two.

It would be much different for Robbie, if Sportacus were to try and help him. His usual methods of solving someone’s loneliness wouldn’t work for the other man, and as a result, he had no idea where to begin. He had long since recognized that he didn’t know, and it often left him feeling worried, dejected. And to feel dejected was something he was a bit unused to. He was usually upbeat, happy, and energetic, but when it came to Robbie, he felt… much different things.

When he saw the man in any of his various disguises, or in the background causing trouble, he couldn’t help but feel many conflicting things. On one hand he was happy to see him, _very_ happy. Warmth often initially bubbled in his chest and made it impossible for him _not_ to smile. But on the other hand, seeing him reminded Sportacus of his inability to effectively help the man, and left him worried again. _Had he been sleeping? Had he had any water? Had he eaten something that day? Had he stretched when he got up?_

So many worries…

Often times, worrying about Robbie kept him awake past 8:08pm. A break in his sleep schedule usually kept him asleep past sunrise, even if it was just a few minutes past, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t dream. In contrast, he had dreams every night. Usually, it was of the bright green grass and the obelisk stones and waterfalls from his homeland, of the warm air and cloudy, pleasantly blue skies. He missed his homeland, but Lazytown was his home now.

In his dreams, the grass was warm against his bare feet, the line of the forest not too far off, and the sun made his surroundings bright and comforting. He missed the green and the smell of the earth and the pine, the clean, cold air. Most of these things were in Lazytown, too, but it felt different to him. There was a nostalgic familiarity here, in his homeland, that he couldn’t find anywhere else.

His walking eventually turned into running, and as he raced through the grass, his lungs inhaling that clean air, he saw someone in the distance, at the crest of a hill. They were little more than a dark patch against the bright grass and sunny skies and the line of the woods, but as he got closer, he was able to distinguish more details. Purple and indigo and gold strips, horrible posture, black hair, long limbs. _His Robbie._

“Robbie!” he called, his voice carried on the wind to the man as he got closer. A fond expression crossed his face, and he held out his arms for Sportacus to jump in to on his arrival. The elf’s forward momentum took them both down, and it was just the two of them in the grass, both of them laughing breathlessly, Robbie with a playfully annoyed expression on his face.

“Easy, Sport,” he complains, and said elf remembers about his back.

“Sorry! I’m just excited.” He had brought Robbie home. Home to the rocks and the waterfalls, to the trees and the stretches of green hills. This was elf territory; humans didn’t come here, and if they did, they wouldn’t stay for very long. Bringing Robbie here definitely meant… something. “I haven’t been home in a very long time.”

“If you had left Lazytown like I wanted you to, you could have come back much sooner,” Robbie says playfully, a grin tugging at his lips. Sportacus laughs, squirming to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, the sweetness of his lips oddly addicting to someone who was unable to process sugar.

“But if I had, we would have never gotten to know each other,” Sportacus responds. “Not like this.” Robbie twines his long fingers into his mop of dirty blond hair, bringing him down to kiss him again.

“True.” The wind in the air and the whisper in the grass is the only sound for a while. Robbie looks as if he may be falling asleep, his eyes closed and his face serene. Sportacus rests his chin in his palm and watches him, the hand on his chest idly tracing patterns across his striped vest. “Hey, Sport?”

Robbie doesn’t open his eyes, but his sudden address makes Sportacus’s fingers freeze. “Hm?” It comes out as more of a dreamy sigh.

“How come you brought me here?” At first Sportacus is confused, but Robbie continues. “I mean, isn’t this place private? Like, no humans allowed kind of think?”

“It is,” Sportacus agrees, letting his gaze drift idly over the line of the trees in the distance. “But that doesn’t count if the human I’m bringing is my husband.” Robbie smiles, and Sportacus sees a faint dusting of pink on his usually pale cheeks. Maybe this time in the sun will tan him up a bit, or if nothing else, make him feel a bit better. He knew the wonders of sunlight on his mood, and knew that that wasn’t restricted to only elves. “I love you, Robbie,” he whispers after a moment, softly, like it was a secret, just for him.

Grey eyes met his, and he smiled. It was so _nice_ to see him smile. “I love you, too, you tiresome elf.”

A sudden incessant beeping sounded somewhere far off, and it made him look to the forest. It was gone before he could think much more of it, but the familiarity of it worried him. Robbie ran a hand through his hair, and he was about to say something when he heard it again. The same familiar beeping. “Someone’s in trouble,” Robbie says, and Sportacus looks back down to see his peacefully smiling face.

And then he’s blinking himself awake. His airship is dark; it’s still night, but flashing light is going off on his chest. His crystal. Someone _was_ in trouble. His computer lit up on the side of the wall, he saw that the distress signal was coming from somewhere within the town. The signal originated from near Ziggy’s house, and Sportacus figured it was because he was stuck in a tree again.

He pulls himself out of bed, resigning himself to feeling tired the next day, and slipped on his boots. This wasn’t the first time he had had a dream like that involving Robbie – an oddly pleasant, happy dream where he wasn’t getting himself into trouble or trying to rid the town of Sportacus – but this _was_ the first time he had one where he had taken Robbie home.

Humans didn’t come around the place where he grew up, and usually, they weren’t allowed to. As much as he loved the kids, he wouldn’t take them to his homeland. He wouldn’t take the Mayor or Ms. Busybody. But in his dream, he took Robbie.

He took Robbie, and called him his _husband._

He didn’t realize he was blushing until after Ziggy brought it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the nice comments on the last chapter! I sincerely love you all <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to get really invested in writing this, aren't I?

Robbie wasn’t having a good night. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and no matter the amount of coffee he drank, it wasn’t stopping. He was strung on a wire, hyperactive and wanting to tinker with _something_ but for once, hardly any ideas were crossing his mind. It had been roughly forty hours since he had ~~woken up from that dream~~ slept. His head was buzzing and his arms were shaking, but this wasn’t anything inherently abnormal. He was very used to staying awake for days on end, thriving only on coffee and sugar in timed intervals to keep the crashes to a minimum.

This was different though. In the past, he was awake because he has something to _work_ on. He had some new device to design or another disguise to make, and it was solely due to this that he was able to survive until the inevitable time when he crashed and would sleep solidly for several hours. Now, he was awake solely because he didn’t _want_ to sleep. After having that dream of Sportaflop, he really didn’t want to sleep again for fear of it repeating itself, like an annoying commercial that sometimes played twice in a row. He knew he’d have to sleep eventually, but maybe if he waited long enough, it would be so deep that he wouldn’t dream.

Currently, Robbie was laying on the cold stone floor of his home, staring up at the pipes and steel beams that made up the ceiling, the sound of his fingers tapping on his chest the only noise in the place. His chalkboard was hanging down, the green of it smeared with chalk scribbles that amounted to nothing. He was wearing little more than his bathrobe and his underwear, with only his striped socks as an exception. In the forty hours since his dream, he hadn’t left his bunker, had hardly even blinked when he heard the sound of the kids screaming and playing outside.

It had been only a week since their sudden disappearance to the beach on the first day of summer. That day had been particularly difficult for him, only for a reason he was able to reflect on afterwards. He had _missed_ those kids. He’d missed those loud, noisy, annoying children, but more importantly, he had really, _really_ missed Sportacus. For all the time and all the schemes he had put in to trying to get that rambunctious blue elf to leave, in the day that he was gone, Robbie found that his absence had left a painful hole in his chest.

It didn’t help that, later, he had been dipped down, Sportacus’s strong arms at his waist and across his shoulders. He was staring up at his beautiful face, briefly stunned by his smile, his gleaming teeth, his soft blue eyes full of warmth and humor against the blue of the sky, smelling the sand and salt of sweat on his tan skin.

Robbie groans, putting an arm over his eyes and blocking out the lights in his bunker.

_He wants to rake his hands down the elf’s chest and his ripped abs, explore every inch of his toned body…_

Snippets of his dream dance in his head and he almost wants to groan again. He does _not_ need this right now. He was putting off sleep for a reason.

But it was true. There was so much power behind the coiled muscles across the elf’s shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his legs, his _arms –_ okay, maybe Robbie had a slight thing for his arms. It didn’t help that he never wore sleeves, not even when it snowed. He just supposed that elves never got cold. Or tired. He hears something groan within the depths of his home, then a few large, loud snaps, and by the time he pulls his arm away and opens his eyes, its completely dark around him.

The power had shut off. The breakers had tripped. All of his lights had stopped working. He was trapped, underground, in pure, _utter_ darkness. Robbie feared, and _hated_ the dark. He loathed it infinitely more than he ever could that elf. He would rather exercise and eat ten apples if it meant that he wouldn’t be in the exact situation he is in now.

So, its natural, he supposes, that he begins panicking.

 

* * *

 

For the second time in the past few weeks, the beeping of the crystal wakes Sportacus after midnight. It had just reached 1:30 in the morning, and he didn’t know if it was just because he tired or if the crystal really was a lot louder than it usually was in the past. Nevertheless, the urgency was still there, and he was up in an instant, pulling on his boots and finding the source of the distress. It was coming from the outskirts of Lazytown, and Sportacus only knew one person that lived there.

_Robbie_.

Seeing as it was the middle of the night, and (most of) all of the residents in Lazytown were asleep, he was slightly confused. In the past when Robbie was in trouble, it was usually as a result of one of his schemes gone awry. But in the middle of the night, what could he have possibly gotten himself in to?

He pondered this as he raced his way to the corner of Lazytown, traversing the walls and getting to the billboard as quickly as he could, as was his usual fashion. Despite his initial tiredness, the thought of Robbie being in some kind of danger was enough to get him up and going as if he had gotten a full night’s sleep.

He hesitates for a brief moment when he gets behind the billboard and to the hatch, unsure if he should know or go straight in. On one hand, he didn’t want to invade Robbie’s privacy or his home without permission, but on the other, he wasn’t sure the kind of situation Robbie was in. If he was in immediate danger, surely this unpermitted entry just this _once_ wouldn’t be such a big deal, right?

At least, this is what he tells himself as he jumps into the darkness of the hatch, sliding down the tube into the bunker where Robbie had made his home. He kept his legs straight out in front of him and lets his fingers graze the top of the tube as he goes down, down, down

Until he’s suddenly free from the tube and his feet are planted firmly on the ground, in the complete darkness of Robbie’s bunker.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I'm going to get very, very invested in this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer than the previous chapters and it was a bit harder to write. I'm not the greatest at dialogue lol

The occasional flashing of his crystal is the only light, and from it, he can see the general layout of the bunker, but nowhere does he see Robbie. “Hello?” he calls into the darkness of the bunker. The only response is the echo of his own voice. “Robbie, are you here?”

He here’s a low groan to his right, and he whips his head around, the light from his crystal halting when his eyes land on a solid purple form huddled in the corner, one that he initially thought to only be another shadow. “Robbie, are you – ?”

Despite his entry and his initial announcement, Robbie seems startled and reacts as such, pushing himself further into the corner. “W-Who’s there?!” he demands, trying to sound tough and intimidating in the face of an unknown person but it comes out weak and trembling.

“Robbie, it’s me, Sportacus,” he says gently, approaching him slowly for fear of startling him. When he reaches his side, he lowers himself to his knees beside him, resting a hand on his leg. Robbie jerks in response. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The lights…” he hears Robbie say, his voice dissolving into a whimper, and Sportacus doesn’t quite recognize the significance of it. “The lights went out…” Robbie must be afraid of the dark, he realized, and knew he had to figure out some way of getting the lights back on again. He begins to stand again, removing his hand from Robbie’s knee, but a vice like grip around his fingers stop him from going anywhere. “D-Don’t leave me!” It comes out high and panicked, so Sportacus returns to where he had been seated, not attempting to remove his hand from Robbie’s grip.

“I’m not going to, Robbie,” he responds, keeping his voice soft. “But I need you to tell me how to turn the lights back on.”

“…tripped the breaker,” Robbie mutters, and Sportacus can hardly hear him; he leans forward. “Need to turn it back on.”

“Do you think you can take me to where the breaker is?” he asks, and feels Robbie’s hand tremble in his. He doesn’t have any clue where it may be – he hasn’t been in here enough to know – but he does know that it’s absolutely crucial to get the lights back on without leaving Robbie by himself.

“I-I don’t know if I – ” Robbie begins, cutting himself off.

“I won’t let go of your hand, Robbie,” Sportacus promised, giving it a squeeze for reassurance. “Can you get up and come with me?” Silence, for a long while, and he sees the outline of a hesitant nod. With Sportacus’s help, Robbie stands up, obviously on shaky legs. Both of his arms wind around one of Sportacus’s, squeezing tighter than what Sportacus believed he was able. He must be truly afraid. “It’s okay Robbie. Show me where the breaker is.”

Robbie begins walking, muttering something about a panel, heading to the opposite wall of the bunker. They cross slowly, the darkness resulting in their shared inability to see even a few feet in front of them. The grip on his arm doesn’t ease up as they cross, but he does notice that the fingers resting on his upper arm aren’t digging into his skin anymore.

Upon reaching the opposite wall, Sportacus sees a silver latch just at his head height. With Robbie remaining unmoving at his side, he reaches up and opens it himself. On the other side of the panel door, he sees a variety of black boxes with switches on them, lined up vertically. “Which ones…?”

“Third and sixth,” comes the shaky reply, quiet even if he was right by his ear.

It takes Sportacus some time, and quite a bit of squinting, to locate the right ones, and with the switches back on, a low rumble comes from seemingly beneath his feet. The lights around them flicker back on, blinding him with their intensity, and he blinks several times before looking back to Robbie. With the lights on, he can see the truly disheveled state that he’s in. His hair – which was normally slicked back and immaculate – was quite nearly hanging in his eyes, which were puffy and rimmed red ( _he’d been crying_ ), and he wasn’t wearing his normal pinstripes and vest. He was instead wearing a purple robe that seemed too big for him and looked just as fluffy as his chair, and Sportacus noticed that, beyond that, he was wearing little else. Miles of pale skin branched out underneath the robe and Sportacus found himself momentarily distracted by it all.

“Robbie,” he says softly, resting his free hand on his forearm. He seemed to be recovering from his ordeal, now standing a bit straighter and rubbing furiously at his eyes with one hand. “Robbie, are you alright?” The worry in his chest is spilling out into his voice and he doesn’t care to amend it.

“Of _course_ , I’m alright, you obnoxious _elf_ ,” Robbie says, bite in each word. Sportacus might have believed him had Robbie not looked the way he did now. He was silent, taking in the unkempt hair, the bruises beneath his eyes, his pale skin, his shaking fingers. He doesn’t take his arm from where it was still clinging to Sportacus. “What are you doing in my house?”

“My crystal told me you were in trouble,” Sportacus answers, and it’s the easiest answer he _can_ give. “I came to help you.”

Now Robbie does remove his arm, only to cross both of them across his chest. “Yes, well…” A sniff, another whip across the eyes. Robbie wasn’t looking at him. “I’m quite alright now. So, you can get lost. Flip back up to your ship or whatever…”

“I may have gotten the lights back on, Robbie, but I can tell you still need my help.” Robbie doesn’t respond, and Sportacus can’t tell if he’s curling his lip in contempt or if it’s quivering. “You’re afraid of the dark, aren’t you Robbie?” The way Robbie stands with crossed arms, defensive posture and scoffs, seemingly affronted, doesn’t throw off the fact that Sportacus is now reminded of Ziggy, and his fear that dinosaurs were lurking in the dark and waiting to attack him.

“I most certainly am not!” Robbie cries, but he still doesn’t look at Sportacus, nor does he sound convincing. What more is that he doesn’t offer any kind of response other than that, staying hunched and avoiding Sportacus’s gaze.

“There’s no shame in being afraid of the dark, Robbie,” Sportacus says, smiling when he sees Robbie glance at him. “Do you think you can sleep? It’s quite late at night.”

“Don’t you think I would be sleeping already if I _could_?” Robbie retorts, and now Sportacus recognizes the root cause for the deep circles beneath his eyes. Sportacus had never had problems related to insomnia, and had very little experience when it came to dealing with it. He knew that some people couldn’t just sleep when they were tired, and it wasn’t because they were doing anything to keep themselves up. Sympathy wells up in his chest.

“Do you want to go ahead and lie down?” Sportacus suggests, looking to the orange fluffy recliner in the center of the otherwise nearly colorless room. “I can try and help you calm down.”

Robbie seems too tired to argue. All he does is pull his robe stiffly, crossing his arms again, and turns away from Sportacus, descending the stairs and then collapsing into his chair. He didn’t seem particularly pleased that Sportacus was there, but hadn’t said anything so far about wanting him to go. Sportacus jumps over the railing, which Robbie acknowledges with only a slightly annoyed glance.

“I could tell you a story, if you like,” Sportacus suggests. He really wants to talk and figure out exactly what was bothering Robbie, but he thinks the worst thing to do at the moment would be to pressure him into opening up.

“I _don’t_ need a bedtime story,” Robbie dismisses.

“Just a little one?” Silence, for a decent amount of time, and then a grumbled “fine” gave him the okay. “So, once upon a time, there was an old man and his wife that lived in a dirty cottage, near a beautiful castle…”

The story continued on for quite a while, Sportacus leaning into the side of the chair. It was a story his mother had told him when he was a child, about a great miser that died and left his son with his partially stolen wealth. The son had given back the money his father had taken, left only with six shillings to his name. The young man met two women and three men who invited him for supper, and, with his last six shillings, bought a strange little creature from them, that they called a cat. After meeting an old man, who saw that he had nothing else in the world but his cat, advised him to go to the castle and take counsel of the king, because the king was kind to everyone. The son had thanked the old man, and went to see the king in his castle, who was only a few miles to the east.

Upon his arrival, the youth discovered the castle was overrun with rats, of whom his cat took quick care of. “What kind of animal is that which can work magic of this sort?” the king had asked him, astonished. The young man told him that it was called a cat, that it was all he had, and he had bought it for six shillings. The king had replied, “Because of the luck you have brought me, in freeing my castle from this plague of many years, I will let you choose between two things. Either become my Prime Minister, or marry my daughter and reign after me.” The youth said, “the Princess and the kingdom”, and so it was.

By the time he had finished his story, the adrenaline high that had woken him earlier had plenty faded. His arms were crossed over his knees, and he looked behind and above him to see that Robbie was sleeping peacefully now. Sure, his arms were crossed and he seemed awfully stiff, but his usual irritable expression had long since disappeared. He wondered idly what time it was, but his exhaustion would say that it must be close to dawn. So he stands up, looking down at the sleeping villain beneath him. He wants to do more for him in the moment but he doesn’t want to press any more boundaries.

_He wants to hold his hand and run his fingers through his hair and kiss him and make him know he’s loved and cared about and valued. He wants to curl up beside him and keep him warm and make sure he wakes up happy and content and well rested. He wants to stay at his side make sure he eats well and gets plenty of sleep and –_

Sportacus cuts that line of thought off before it goes much farther. He treads lightly, leaving Robbie behind and going back to his airship. He’s too tired to climb the ladder himself, and just lets it pull him up. His bed is cold when he climbs in to it, and he wonders how warm it would be if Robbie was beside him.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Robbie was screwed. Utterly and wholly screwed. He had never thought that he would ever fall this far, hell, he hadn’t even _meant_ to. This had all started with a dream. A dream that had left him minutely confused, but moreover, had stunned him with the realization of what it had meant. He wasn’t good at expressing whatever emotions he may be feeling, and that stemmed from his inability to deal with them internally. The things he expressed – annoyance, discontent, anger – were so much different than the things that he truly felt – loneliness, longing, sadness, happiness (but only occasionally).

And now, especially since his dream, a permanent ache had settled in his chest and wouldn’t go away. He wondered if his eating habits had finally caught up with him and he was hours away from a heart attack, but in reality, he knew that wasn’t what it was. This was inherently something to do with that hyperactive elf.

Every time he saw his blue eyes, he got lost. Looking into them, even for the smallest of moments, made his hyperactive mind calm down, and all he could think about was _blue._ Robbie figured something must be incredibly wrong with him, if whatever ideas he had could be halted by brief contact with blue eyes. Each time he caught sight of his smile, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the gleam of his teeth, his heart would skip a beat. Each time he would catch Sportacus idly doing pushups, and would see the muscles of his arms drawn tight as he pushed himself up, he found that his mouth would get incredibly dry.

He must be getting sick. Yes. That must be it.

The summer ended, and the kids had to go back to school. The mornings and parts of the afternoon were blissfully quiet, and as such, Robbie was able to sleep through the mornings without disturbance. His sleep schedule went relatively back to normal – awake for a few days at a time, then sleeping from the middle of the night to the afternoon, when the kids returned from school and joined Sportacus to play until late into the evening.

The autumn brought falling leaves and cooler temperatures, but this didn’t mean the kids stayed inside. If anything, they seemed to be outside _more_ , considering they now had piles of leaves to thrash around in. Even if their noise was distracting and annoying, it meant that Sportacus was outside of his airship, playing with the children on the ballcourt.

Because of recent developments, especially with his infatuation with a certain blue hero, he felt much less inclined to do inherent bad with his schemes. Instead – and he would never admit this to anyone – he created schemes and plans to get one thing: attention. From a certain blue hero. Stirring up trouble inevitably led to attention, however momentary it may be.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to get Sportacus’s attention. And he didn’t know how to do that.

 

* * *

 

It was nearly the end of November. Robbie couldn’t necessarily remember the day, but he was acutely aware of the time. The only reason this was is because someone was knocking on his door (the billboard) and his security system amplified this sound to where it was enough to wake him up from the tail end of the few hours he had gotten in the past couple of days. (This was purely due to the fact that something had resulted in the kids getting a break from school, and they were back to being loud and annoying earlier in the morning).

It was nearly one in the afternoon (much too soon to be up, in Robbie’s personal opinion). Nevertheless, he pulled himself out of his warm and comfortable chair, walking into his slippers and climbing the stairs to get to his hatch. He’s in his pajamas, his hair is a mess, but all he really wants to do is find out whoever is bothering him and tell them to get lost. The hatch is harder to open than it probably should be, and when he get to the secret door (not so secret anymore since the kids had already found it), he swung it open with a loud, “ _What_ could you possibly want at this hour?!”

Or, it would have been that if he had gotten past ‘possibly’. Because standing there was a certain person that caused certain reactions in his body that he could only equate to the possibility of being ill. Standing there was a certain person with blue eyes and tan skin and a lovely smile and _Jesus_ , Robbie was in deep.

“Hi, Robbie!” His bright and cheerful personality was no less annoying, especially at this time of day. It was cold outside, and he was in his _slippers_ and he just wanted to go back to sleep.

“What do you want?” he replied icily, keeping his gaze centered on the bridge of his nose, careful to keep away from his eyes. He was annoyed. He couldn’t afford to be anything else.

“Tonight we are having a party,” Sportacus announced, not put off by Robbie’s hostile behavior. “I believe the children called it Thanksgiving. There’s going to be a huge feast with a lot of good food that everyone has been working all day to make.”

“You came all the way out here just to tell me _that_?”

“No, I came here to invite you.”

That set Robbie back a bit, erasing his previous annoyance, shock and disbelief replacing it. The only time he was ever invited to anything was during Christmas time, and the only reason they let him stay was because he had imposed himself with his Santa Claus stunt. And that had gone _so_ well. His snowball cannon had nearly killed the lot of them. There is no way they would ever invite some awkward recluse like _him_ to anything.

“ _Me_?” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. Sportacus’s answering smile was too bright, his expression too genuine, too happy. There was no way he could be lying. There was no way he would be doing this out of _pity_ … was it?

“It starts at the mayor’s house, at 6,” Sportacus informs him, and then suddenly looks a bit unsure, less happy. Robbie hates that expression; it’s so unlike him. “If you want to come, that is. I would really like it if you were to come. The kids would, too.”

“Yeah right,” Robbie scoffs, rolling his shoulders before crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s invite the villain to our party because we pity him. I get it.”

“No, that’s not it!” Sportacus readily defends. “It’s just… I…” In an uncharacteristic display, Sportacus looks down to his feet, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. Robbie doesn’t miss the pink that dusts his tan cheeks. “I really like it when you’re able to enjoy yourself. And from what Stephanie told me, this holiday is about coming together and appreciating your friends and family. And you’re my friend, Robbie.”

Sportacus looks back up at him, and he seems so _hopeful_ and _sincere_. Robbie made a huge mistake when he met those blue eyes; Sportacus has him wrapped around his little finger at the worst of moments, this being one of them.

He tries to think about the implications of this. If he says yes, he’ll have to… _interact._ Not only with the mayor and his annoying girlfriend, but with not one, not two, but _five_ loud children. He’ll be expected to say _please_ and _thank you_ and… make small talk. He wasn’t good at small talk. But if he did go, _if_ he did, he would be able to be around Sportacus for all of that time. And Sportacus was the only thing that made social interaction somewhat bearable. When he wasn’t flipping around.

And if he says no, he’ll spend this Thanksgiving alone. This isn’t necessarily unusual – he’s spent most holidays by himself, for his entire life. He’ll spend Thanksgiving in his bunker with his cake and his TV and his chair. But if he says no, he knows precisely what will happen. The hopeful expression on Sportacus’s face will disappear completely, and he’ll be upset. His heart hurts more than it should be thinking about his being upset.

Robbie realizes after coming to his conclusion that Sportacus was still waiting for his answer. He could practically taste the apprehension that’s causing the elf to bounce up and down on his toes; he’s probably not used to standing still for that long. Robbie sighs, uncrossing his arms and running one of his hands through his hair.

“You said 6?” Lights lit up behind Sportacus’s eyes, and his smile is nearly blinding as he nodded his reply. “Fine, whatever. I’ll be there.”

“Great!” Sportacus says loudly, causing Robbie to wince at the volume. _It’s too early for this_. “I’ll see you there, at six, then. Bye, Robbie!” Sportacus waves to him and then flips away, in a casually energetic display that leaves Robbie feeling twice as tired as he was just a few minutes ago.

He waits until he can’t see the blue of Sportacus’s clothes before he finally closes the door in the middle of the billboard, turning back to the still open hatch. Only then does he allow himself to smile, leaning back against the wooden back of the board and feeling a flush rise to his cheeks.

He knew exactly what this was – he was going to eat Thanksgiving dinner with two old nuts, five annoying kids and a gorgeous sports elf. That’s what it was, in reality. And yet his brain couldn’t stop telling him that this was some kind of date.

 _It’s not like that_ , he told himself as he goes back down to his bunker. _He doesn’t like you that way. Not even close. He’s just doing this because he’s the hero, and he saves people. And he figures that extends to when people are lonely._ He makes himself a cup of coffee, figuring that, even if he’s tired, he might as well stay awake. The party is in five hours – it doesn’t take him that long to get ready to go anywhere – and figures he may as well watch TV or think of something to make in that time.

He sits in his chair, sipping his coffee, and tries to blame the warmth in his chest on his drink, not the memory of shining blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting addicted to writing these two pining boys....


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single time I mention Sportacus looking at Robbie in this chapter (and all other chapters) just please think about this:
> 
> https://lazytowntrashe.tumblr.com/post/157551024708/okay-but-why-is-no-one-talking-about-the-way

Robbie shouldn’t have agreed. That was the bottom line. He was standing in front of the door to the mayor’s house, up on the step, and he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door quite yet. His arm was shaking and he felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. He could hear everyone, having _fun_ and being so _loud,_ just on the other side of the door. He should just go back home. No one’s seen him yet he could go and just pretend he never _actually_ wanted to come. That would be a great blow to Sportacus, wouldn’t it? Lying to him. He’d be so downtrodden and upset that…

Robbie sighed. He couldn’t do something like that. Not to _him_.

He raises his arm and he knocks on the door, and it becomes marginally quiet for a few moments, only to have the uproar come back seconds later. Maybe they hadn’t quite heard them? He had knocked and hadn’t gotten an answer, so he’d be able to go and –

The door opens, and he’s blinded by the smile that Sportacus himself gives him. “Robbie,” he says softly, looking him up and down. “You did come.”

“I told you I’d be here at 6, didn’t I?” he responds, trying to force annoyance into his voice. It doesn’t sound like it works, even to his own ears. The fond smile that crosses Sportacus’s face is one that he wants to ~~kiss~~ wipe off.

“Yes, you did.” They stand there like that for a few more moments, enveloped in awkward silence, before Sportacus seems to realize something. “Oh! Come on inside.” He removes himself from the door frame, allowing Robbie room to come inside. Immediately he feels ten times more apprehensive, and the doorframe suddenly felt like a gateway into some hostile dimension. But Sportacus is waiting for him to come inside, and is standing there with a patient smile and bouncing on his toes, so Robbie ducks into the house, suddenly very aware of the eyes on him.

“Robbie Rotten!” A high, squeaking voice made him jump, but Sportacus has already closed the door and cut off his escape route. A pillar of pink is bounding its way towards him, stopping just before it actually runs into him. “I’m really glad you came!” Pinky says, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Here, c’mon, we’re getting ready to eat!” She takes his hand, and Robbie looks back to Sportacus for help, only to see him smiling at the two of them.

Like a year ago, at Christmas, he was put at the head of the table, beside the candy boy. And, like a year ago, Sportacus went to sit at the other end, watching him say an awkward hello to Ziggy, who smiled and immediately began talking to him. It didn’t seem that Robbie quite knew what exactly to say as Ziggy started talking about how excited he was for the pie that was to come later, after they had eaten.

The table itself had a magnificent spread. Roasted turkey was in the center, surrounded by dishes of asparagus, celery, dressing, stuffing, mashed sweet potatoes, baked carrots, freshly made rolls, fruit salad, cream corn, and, of course, cranberry sauce. Cranberries themselves may be healthy, but not when they were boiled in sugar water.

Once Ms. Busybody and the Mayor sat down, the food was up for grabs. Robbie steered clear of most of the food on the table – he hated carrots, celery even smelled disgusting, asparagus looked gross, cream corn looked like yellow mush – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to get his fill of the turkey and cranberry sauce (though not necessarily his fill – he needed to save plenty of room for the pie that was coming afterwards).

It was constantly loud despite the evident rabid appetites of the kids, but this was because most of them were talking with their mouths full. The only exceptions to this were Stingy – he seemed much to prissy to do anything of the sort – and Stephanie, who was the oldest of the kids and obviously had more manners in her little finger than, say, Trixie did in her whole body. Sure, the noise was bound to give him a headache eventually, but for the moment, he was content with his cranberry sauce and watching Sportacus, who seemed quite happy with his carrots. And his asparagus. And his celery. Moreover, he was laughing and smiling at the kids, and, when he caught Robbie watching him, the warmth of his smile made Robbie’s cheeks hot as a result.

The sweetness of the cranberry sauce is still heavy on his tongue when the pies are brought out. There’s pumpkin and apple – which makes him briefly excited because he loves apple pies (despite the presence of apples, but they were covered in cinnamon and sugar so it technically didn’t count as healthy), but he soon learns that it was made with no sugar, so Sportacus could eat it. He turns it down when Pixel offers him some, and goes straight for the pumpkin pie when he gets the chance, drowning it in so much whipped cream that Sportacus looks sick just seeing it.

It’s during his consumption of piece after piece of whipped cream with a side of pie, he notices a distinct shift in conversation. Now everyone’s talking about the things that they’re _thankful_ for. The pink girl is saying she’s thankful for her uncle, for being able to stay with him and getting to know all of her new friends in Lazytown. The prissy boy says he’s thankful for everything because everything is his, and when the girl with pigtails nudges him, he reiterates and says he’s thankful for his car and for his friends. It’s all about _friendship_ or their computers or their candy, or for each other and their niece, and the lovey dovey crap of it all makes Robbie want to take the rest of his pie and leave before the party is technically over. He just focuses on the whip cream on his fork, wanting desperately to escape before

“What about you Robbie? What’re you thankful for?”

Crap. He knew it would eventually come to him. When he looks up from his fork, they’re all watching him expectantly, with smiling, patient, curious faces, and he feels his heart sink into his stomach.

He doesn’t have an answer. He really doesn’t. When he thinks about the things he’s _thankful_ for, all he can come up with is his chair at home – because it’s comfortable and warm, on the coldest and loneliest of nights, but he would never tell them that, and that is definitely something they wouldn’t want to hear. And then he sees Sportacus, watching him with a soft expression, and he gives a gentle smile when their eyes meet.

_I’m thankful for you._

“Why would you think _I’m_ thankful for anything?” he covers quickly, tearing his gaze away from the elf before he stares for too long and gives something away. “If anything, I’m thankful you didn’t make _everything_ in this little potluck healthy otherwise I would have left with all your pie.” Even he can hear that there’s no malevolence in his voice, and his face is still burning, so most of the other party goers just laugh and turn to Sportacus to ask him the same question.

And, while looking right at Robbie, he says, “For all the people I’ve gotten to know in Lazytown. Because I love every single one of you.”

Robbie wants to believe that he’s only talking to him, but knows that would never be true.

With Stephanie, her uncle, Ziggy, Trixie and Pixel working clean up in the kitchen, and Stingy and Ms. Busybody watching from the dining room, Sportacus and Robbie were left to themselves in the living room. It was tense and awkward, but that was probably only on Robbie’s part, because he had a magnificent tendency to overanalyze and overthink situations. Thankfully, he had no reason to stay, and announced his departure as easy filler conversation.

“Are you sure you want to leave so soon?” Sportacus said when Robbie announced this. “We just finished eating…”

“Of course, I’m sure,” Robbie responded, not able to find it in himself to pull sarcasm on the elf. “Besides, isn’t your bedtime in an hour?”

Sportacus grins, looking down to the floor between them. “I can stay up past 8:08, Robbie. I would be tired the next day, and it isn’t uncommon for someone to need me in the middle of the night.” He looks pointedly at Robbie when he says this, and he flushes when he remembered his dependency on the hero that night.

The night air is cold when they both go outside, Sportacus standing in the doorway and Robbie halfway down the stairs.

“What are you really thankful for, Robbie?” Sportacus asks suddenly, quietly, so that no one inside could hear them, even through the window that’s several feet away from them. No one could see them from this angle either, Robbie noticed. “There must be something. Everyone’s thankful for something.”

“You really want to know?” Robbie wants to sneer, but can’t find it in himself to. He’s had… a nice evening, even if he was tired and it had been too loud and he could feel a headache starting. Sportacus nods enthusiastically, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Robbie sighs, trying to look at anything other than his biceps. Or his face. “My chair. At home. It’s warm and comfortable and I like sleeping in it.” Sportacus doesn’t say anything, just stands there, expectantly, and Robbie feels nervousness clog his throat. He coughs, like he was trying to dislodge it, and he continues quietly behind his hand. “And… you, I suppose. I mean, not that you’re the greatest thing, because nothing could top cake or sleep, but… you’re, well… nice to look at, I suppose.” Sportacus responds with a laugh, and Robbie knows that the flush in his cheeks isn’t due to the cold. It’s… pretty emboldening, if Robbie’s honest.

“Even if you’re loud and annoying and hyperactive and healthy,” Robbie continues, the back of his neck hot with embarrassment, even in the cold air. “You’re still… nice, and caring, and you don’t necessarily _seem_ to hate me like everyone else does.”

“What makes you think everybody hates you?” Sportacus asks, and he’s closer now, much closer, equal height with Robbie because of where he’s standing on the top stair.

“I’m the _villain_ , you dolt. Everybody hates the villain.” _Especially when the villain is a lonely recluse who just eats cake and is tired and grumpy all the time and tries to ruin everybody’s fun and tries to run their favorite handsome hero out of town and –_

“Well, I know _I_ for one rather like him,” Sportacus responds, and Robbie sees him shuffle his feet and come closer. “You know, I meant what I said. That I love everyone in Lazytown. I love the kids, and the mayor and Ms. Busybody. And I love you, too.”

Robbie feels like he can hardly talk, and doesn’t look up at Sportacus. “Yeah, because you’re such great friends with _everyone,_ ” he tries to retort. It comes out weak and strangled.

“No, Robbie, that’s not what I meant.” A warm, callused hand is suddenly on his neck, and he’s shaking at its touch. He looks up and sees those beautiful blue eyes watching him with so much honesty and compassion that he doesn’t feel like he deserves. “I’m friends with you, but that doesn’t mean that’s _all_ I want to be.” Robbie doesn’t notice a tear slipping down his cheek until Sportacus’s thumb wipes it away.

And then he’s being kissed, warm hands on either side of his face in the cold, late November air, and all he can taste is cinnamon apples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling the next chapter may be the most shameless, cheesiest thing I've ever written.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so  
> It's been like a year and a couple months. I recently reread through all my past chapters of this and got reinspired to write more. 
> 
> Those of you that have been waiting a year and a couple months for a continuation, this chapter is dedicated to you. It delivers on the angst ;)

At multiple points in his life, he had certainly heard the phrase “once you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s no where to go but up”. A metaphor, clever. It was easy to dig through dirt. Stone resisted the pressure of a metal spade. Robbie was certain that at some point, he had looked the original speaker of this phrase in the eyes as he trudged his way past with a pickaxe.

Taking a tally of the things that he had done, all of the cruel attempts of fun ruining and the tries at driving a certain elf out of town that became progressively more half hearted over time, this was probably the worst. Almost certainly, with no contest, and lacking most of his exaggerative narrative.

He had been kissed by an elf that he was wholeheartedly, achingly in love with. All of his possible reactions to this event had been listed right in front of him – he just had to chose one, maybe two if kiss him back and cry could be done simultaneously. All of those options, and he had still managed to find the “Do Nothing”. He had been kissed and he had locked up in what he knew to be shock, making no attempt to return the endearing press of _his_ lips, the warm, gentle touch of _his_ hands. And of course, he had thought it meant he was doing something wrong, that he had overstepped his bounds. As if he could ever do anything wrong.

He had become hesitant, apologetic. Those apologies were heard, but he hadn’t processed them. It’s like he had been listening underwater, or that his ears were stuffed with cotton. They didn’t want to work, his tongue didn’t either, though he didn’t quite know what he would have said. It seemed that with the more possibilities that were presented to him, the more impossible it was to make a choice.

And for him, it seemed that the best course of action was to say nothing and do nothing. He doesn’t respond to _his_ apologies, does not chase _his_ hands as they left his face, exposing his skin to the biting cold that seemed so much worse than it had a moment ago. Instead, he leaves. Everything he does, he does within a daze, a cloud of inattentiveness. He doesn’t quite remember how exactly he had gotten home. Doesn’t remember getting into his chair, his pants and shoes wet from the snow – he found it remarkable that he didn’t care. Doesn’t remember when he ends up falling asleep – it may have taken hours, or it may have taken a matter of minutes. It was easy to lose track of time in the dark of the bunker.

What he does remember, however, was leaving _him_ alone on the top step of the mayor’s house, face painted with worry and regret and concern. A distinct lack of a smile; a frown there instead, heartbreakingly misplaced. He remembers the call of his name as he trudges off in the snow, his pickaxe heavy on his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

For four days, he deliberately ignored the occasional knocking at his door. He covered his head with his own pillow. He resisted the urge to destroy his security system – it had taken him so long to build it, to keep it working, a shame if he were to just tear it down out of pure annoyance. He tried to ignore how much his heart hurt, his head ached. He tried to ignore how every single piece of him was pulled towards the outside world, to the door, each time he knew, without a doubt, exactly _which_ person was there.

After the third day, the visitors at his doorstep become much less frequent. The times that had become predictable for a knock to come changed. Friday hadn’t been too bad. There was a knock in the morning, two right after each other in the afternoon, one in the evening. Saturday was worse. Sunday was awful. Monday, the kids had to go back to school. There was only one knock in the morning – his clock ticked close to 10am. He knew exactly who it was. He tried to rationalize it away, that maybe one of the kids had skipped – it would have been Trixie, she was the trouble maker, she wouldn’t miss skipping school if she could justify _why_ to any disappointed adult. The afternoon, following three, gave him a splitting headache. In the evening, it died down. Once it was dark out, he thinks. The children would have been called in to their homes for the night.

The next day was quiet. There was one visitor to his door scratching at 8pm. That was the time that came predictable. He deliberately didn’t think about how the attention he was getting ended after 8:08pm.

 

* * *

 

Robbie was happy, as close as he could get to it, that he didn’t dream. His rest was fitful; most of the time he woke up feeling more tired than he was went he went to sleep. He took things apart just to put them back together. He couldn’t track the time. Couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, even though he knew he had. Life was hazy, his attention wavered. Sometimes he would be holding something important, but then forget about why he had it to begin with.

It was awful. He imagines the clever metaphor maker, looking into his pit, shaking his head. Probably disappointed. It didn’t matter. There was a sick satisfaction he gained whenever he proved people wrong. It didn’t matter.

His floor became a mess of partially dismantled machines – scattered piles of screws and bolts, plates of metal, some with sharp edges, some with smooth edges. The piles spilled into each other. He lost some of the pieces, and would spend a long, distracted while searching for them. He drowned out the knocking at his door with the sound of a hammer beating against metal. His fingers became covered in grease. Occasional bruises blossomed over his skin when he lost his concentration and the hammer missed the bolt in favor of the back of his hand.

Day 5. He sleeps through it. When he wakes up, he has to purposefully seek his clock to find what time it is. Late at night, or early in the morning, depending on perspective. 4am was an odd time like that. He steps on a couple of screws.

Day 6. That was when things changed. Wednesday was a tipping point of the week. It was like 4am stretched into an entire day. In the middle of things. Not belonging (he knows how that feels). This day was when the knocking did not quit. It lasted for five, continuous pounding minutes. There was a break. He had assumed that would have been it. But of course it wasn’t. He wouldn’t ever be that lucky.

So, as they _would_ do, one of these continually insufferable children broke into his house.

He doesn’t know if the look he gives the pink lump on his floor is a glare or one of exasperation. Even as she scrambles her way up, brushing off the front of her dress. She winds up examining the mess of metal on the floor before huffing in a breath, squaring her shoulders back as though there was any way she could be intimidating from where she stands, in the middle of half-made machines with smudges of grease against the edges of her dress. He thinks that he should tell her it’s never coming out, and she best be prepared to throw it away. He had long since stopped wearing anything but dark colors for a very good reason.

“Robbie Rotten!” comes her demanding, squeaky voice. Her tone is rather accusing, like he had done something wrong. Habitually, he thinks that he has, as impossible as it was. He hadn’t left his bunker for nearing a week.

“What do you want, Pinky?” He’s surprised at how tired he sounds. Has he spoken in the past couple of days? He must have, even if it was just mumbles of frustration or half formed ideas under his breath. That counted. Well, he counted it at least. “I thought you knew better than to break into people’s houses.”

He doesn’t miss her blush at being called out on what was realistically considered a crime. She doesn’t remain perturbed for long. Her arms cross tightly over her chest, her weight rocks forward. A demanding, confident pose for such a small body. “I’ve been knocking for a week,” she returns, as though it was some kind of justification.

“I didn’t answer for a reason.”

“We’ve _all_ been knocking for a week!” The peak of her voice renews his headache. “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t make me laugh.” Such a despondent response. “You can leave at any time.”

“I’m _not_ leaving. You can’t make me.” Robbie resists the urge to roll her eyes. This girl was so supported by the adults around her, and her natural leadership role amongst her little group of friends had overinflated her ego and her sense of self-importance. (He wonders how he would have turned out, if he had had that). He opts to ignore her. He goes right back to ripping out the wires from the heart of a black box. It’s to be repurposed. The wires don’t need to be there anyway. “Don’t ignore me either!”

“It’d be easier not to if you’d give me a sensible reason as to what you’re doing here.” He wipes his hand against his pant leg, not bothering to take his attention away from the striped wires within the box. “Make it quick, Pinky, as you can see I’m very busy.”

“My _name_ is Stephanie.” The exasperated sigh he gives her is enough of an answer for her to continue. “Sportacus is sad.” The mention of his name makes Robbie wince, the knowledge that Stephanie gives him prompts him to look up at her. She has an incredibly smug look on her face. She _knew_ that would draw his attention.

“Why should I care?” he responds, but he takes too long to say it, and the words hold nothing even close to indifference. He can hear the worry, the sadness, the fear, in his tone and he hopes it doesn’t sound as pathetic to Stephanie as it does to him.

“Because he’s sad because of _you_ ,” she informs him. He knows this. It makes sense. The flash image of Sportacus alone on the steps at the front door makes his heart ache. “And this isn’t a normal sad! He can be sad sometimes, but it doesn’t last for this long. Certainly not a whole week.”

“And what makes you figure that I did anything?” He purposefully delves back into his task, trying to make it seem like the things she says don’t bother him.

“Because,” she begins, then pauses. The pause worries him. “I saw what happened when you left the party.” _Fuck._ He would have said it aloud, but in the next second he’s biting his tongue hard enough that he tastes blood. “ _And_ I know that you _like-like_ him.”

He sputters, a reactionary, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” coming out before he’s able to realize that that was the equivalent of admitting that she was right. By the increasingly smug look on her face, and the raise of one of her eyebrows, he flusters, knows that it would probably be pointless to try and deny any further. _Unbelievably childish._

“I know I’m right.” Of course she would. So sure of her own intelligence.

“How would _you_ even know what love is?” he counters, giving the scathing reply only because he’s been backed into a corner. “You’re just a silly little _girl._ ”

“I will have you know that I’m _almost_ a teenager,” she states proudly. “And as almost a teenager, I think I know a little more than a little girl would.” _Yes because of course being an almost teenager counts for so much,_ he thinks, but refrains from saying. “Either way, we’re worried about you, Robbie. You haven’t… done anything! We don’t know what to do without your pranks. We’re too bored. And Sportacus misses you, too.”

“I’m sure,” he replies sarcastically. He doesn’t need to, but he gets a flat head screw driver and begins deconstructing the box between his knees. He can just put it back together again later. It would give him _something_ to do. “As evident by the fact that he’s here instead of you.”

“He doesn’t want to invade your privacy,” Stephanie answers, an incredibly sensible response.

“Seems you still have more manners to learn from him,” Robbie grumbles under his breath.

“I only came here because _someone_ had to.” Her voice is soft now. She sounds sad. “Sportacus isn’t happy without you. Neither is Trixie. Or Ziggy. Even Stingy misses you! And so do I. Plus it can’t be healthy to stay down here _all_ the time.”

“We’ve well established that nothing about me is _healthy_.” He spits the word, like it was a curse. He chooses to address that instead of thinking about the conflicting knowledge that the children _miss_ him. The painful fact that Sportacus is no longer _happy._

Maybe if he was unhappy, he would realize he didn’t need to be in Lazy Town anymore. He would get into his stupid blue airship and he would finally leave, going back to god knows where elves come from. Maybe if he just stayed down here a bit longer, if he continues to deny Sportacus any chance at speaking to him again, he would finally have some peace. Would finally have some quiet. The town would become silent once again, its occupants downtrodden at the departure of their _celebrity._ He would be able sleep easily again, and he would never have to think about that stupid, blue elf.

That’s what he should be thinking. He was still the villain, he was the one meant to drive the _hero_ out. And yet, that’s not what he’d thinking about at all. Instead, he was thinking about his smile, his stupid, ridiculous mustache, his beautiful blue eyes, that he shouldn’t get lost in, but he does and that was probably the must frustrating part about him.

Well, it was either that or his empathy. His uncanny knack for making everything better even if, from a villain’s perspective, he was ruining it all. He thinks, distant, back to a panicked, albeit short lived, plunge into total darkness. He thinks of the hand that reached out and found him in the dark, giving him security. It had made the dark so much less suffocating, the shadows in the corners of his eyes not paralyzing him, forcing him against the nearest wall for safety. He thinks of a sweet voice telling him some story that he never heard the ending to until he was actually falling asleep, sleeping better than he thinks he has in his whole life.

“Please, Robbie,” the girl says, pathetically, pursing her bottom lip, puppy dog eyes on full display. “Will you come outside? If you won’t do it for us, will you at least do it for Sportacus?”

Such a low blow. His grip tightens on the screw driver. He debates complying. He is tempted to get up and leave, to go to Sportacus and tell him he’s sorry – he hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, he hadn’t known what to do in response, and had predictably chose the wrong one. He _always_ does the wrong thing. He always disappoints _everyone_.

He swallows around whatever suddenly clogs his throat. “Get out of my house.”

“But Robbie – ” the girl begins to protest.

“I said _get. Out._ ” He didn’t leave room for questions, and he didn’t look up from the floor until she was gone.

 

* * *

 

He purposefully didn’t think about anything even remotely relating to the blue elf. He didn’t think about the grass, or the sky – _the color of his eyes –_ or the fact that he isn’t _happy_ anymore and it’s all because of _him._ Sure there was the possibility that Stephanie had been lying, that she had just been falsifying things to entice him into rejoining society. But there was also the fact that he knew that wasn’t the case. Pinky was a horrible liar, couldn’t do it even if she tried. She was cripplingly honest, even to a fault.

Robbie Rotten had ruined his own life. Somewhere along the way, he had ruined the life of someone he loved, too.

After Stephanie had left, sleep started eluding him again. It went from the way he passed time, sleeping through the morning into the afternoon because, with children at school, it meant that they played and were annoying elsewhere. It was a bit of a saving grace, really, this bought of insomnia. If he slept, he would dream, and if he dreamt, he would probably dream of Sportacus.

A week after the (he refused to think _kiss_ ) party, he metaphorically and almost literally buried himself in work. The repurposed black box had been entirely deconstructed, then rebuilt, its design altered because he lost two of the bolts somewhere in all of this mess. By now, he didn’t even know _what_ he was building, or even what he was going to end up doing with whatever came out of this. He just needed to keep his hands busy. He had to. If he didn’t, he thinks he would probably end up doing something he regretted.

Needed to keep his hands busy. Had to keep his mind occupied. His leg still bounced as he worked. A tinge of anxiety. A heap of hyperactivity.

It was 11:13am on Friday. It was the last day of the school week. Soon it would be the weekend, which meant early morning screaming that lasted most of the day. It was soon to be December, and with that came a break from their schooling, plus snow that just enticed them out to play _more_.

11:13am on Friday. A knock at his door. The noise made his teeth ache. As usual, it went ignored. Time passed. 11:19am. What would he have for lunch that day? (The answer was obvious, the question was only to distract him).

11:19am. Someone breaks into his home. The first thought he has is that, once again, it’s the annoying pink girl. He’d have leverage at least. He could chastise her for skipping school, because that was the irresponsible, _dishonest_ thing. He could threaten to tell her uncle. The goody two shoes wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of pressure.

Regrettably, and derisively, like the universe was mocking everything he was attempting to accomplish, the person that is now amongst the mess of metal and bolts and spare parts that he had long since stopped trying to organize, was not dressed in pink. Decidedly not. In fact, they’re not some tiny girl who thinks the world of herself because her self-esteem hadn’t been crushed into the ground like his had. Decidedly not. In fact, they were very much a man, who was much taller than a little girl, and who was dressed in all blue. His exasperated sigh that had built up within him died out before it had fully formulated itself as soon as he met wide blue eyes.

“Hi, Robbie,” he says, despite the circumstances. Despite the fact that the last time they had seen each other was a week ago, when he had abandoned him at the top of a set of steps. Despite the fact that he was the direct cause of a tense, depressing seven days, if he were to trust what Pinky had said. Despite the fact that he was the villain, and villains didn’t _deserve_ to be cared about.

“The fact that Pinky looks up to you to learn manners from is shocking,” he says, as close to a deadpan as he can, trying to ignore how… hollow Sportacus sounded. He tried to blame the shadows beneath those blue eyes on the lighting within the bunker, but realistically, he knew that wasn’t what it was. “Whatever happened to respecting my privacy?”

He turns his back on the elf deliberately. He can’t stand to look at him.

“I was worried about you,” comes the simple reply. Of course he was. Always so caring. “And I came to say that I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For kissing you. I had thought, that is to say that I…” His attempts at explaining himself are pathetic to listen to. He doesn’t stammer over his sentences this much.

“If you came here just for that then you can go ahead and leave,” he says. Robbie wants him to leave. He wants him to leave so badly. Wants him to _stay._ Doesn’t ever want him to leave.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You do know that this is a criminal offense. If you don’t leave – ”

“I’m _not_ leaving.”

“Why not?!” He hadn’t meant to get as frustrated as this. Metal crashes against the floor when he drops it. Or maybe he threw it. He isn’t sure, looking back on it. He twists around so fast it hurts his back. Sportacus looks surprised, a little put off. He doesn’t find himself caring. An uncanny twist of apathy settles heavy over his shoulders. “Why can’t you, why can’t _any_ of you just leave me _alone_?!”

“Because I care about you, Robbie,” is what Sportacus says in response. His face is completely open, entirely honest. His voice is soft in comparison to Robbie’s screaming.

“ _Why_?!” It’s a desperate cry, his voice cracking like some pre-pubescent child. He tries to pretend the tears aren’t in his eyes. He pretends that Sportacus can’t see them. “Why would you even _bother_?”

“Because you’re worth caring about.” The words are gentle. He feels sick. A retort would have come, but suddenly there aren’t any words that he can find. Almost habitually maybe, he seeks security by finding the nearest wall and pressing his back against it as Sportacus comes closer to him, finding some obscure path through the mess. He feels like he’s going to suffocate once he gets close. “I’m… I really am sorry. I wanted to give you time, and some space, but I… I needed to talk to you. I needed to clear things.”

“And have you?” he tries, biting against the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t think I have.” Of course he didn’t. It could never be that easy. “Why did you leave, Robbie?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He doesn’t think he can hold up under this pressure.

“Did you leave because you didn’t like that I kissed you?” Sportacus asks. Robbie flushes. Leave it to him to be so straightforward. “Because I don’t think that was what it was.”

“…what else would it have been?” His responses are weak now. His hands – now without something to do – have come to pick at each other, fingernails scratching at the grease and tearing at his skin. “You know I… that I despise you.”

There’s a beat of silence. It isn’t broken by anything. The longer it stretches the more he begins to panic. And then Sportacus is reaching up and taking his hands, pulling them away from one another. He flinches harshly at the unexpected contact. His thumbs stroke soothingly over Robbie’s knuckles. There’s a pain in his heart, like a knife had been plunged into it, at the soft touch.

“Robbie.” Just a simple murmur of his name. “Robbie, look at me.” He does. It’s amazing at the way he’s now bent around this man’s finger. There’s a gentle expression on his face. His blue eyes are so warm. He can feel himself coming closer to crying at the look Sportacus gives him.

“Why?” he asks again. It’s just a whisper. It holds nothing but loneliness, longing, a desperate crave for some kind of attention. He hates the sound of it. Sportacus’s eyes close, and he brings Robbie’s hands up to his face. He brushes his lips against his fingers.

“You’re worthy of so much more than you think, Robbie,” he says. A choked whimper comes out of Robbie’s throat, entirely involuntarily. He can’t hold the warm blue gaze any longer. His chin drops to his chest. His eyes close. Tears streak his face. He hates it. God, he hates it. He hates this. Why couldn’t he just _leave_?

Sportacus drops his hands. Robbie doesn’t know what to do with them. They fall uselessly to his sides. Sportacus hands go to caress his face, thumbs stroking at his cheeks, rubbing away the tears there. “Robbie,” Sportacus sighs, and then he’s kissing Robbie’s forehead. It’s more soothing than anything else. It tears a sob from him, and then his useless hands are coming up to fist themselves in Sportacus’s clothes at his sides. Strong arms draw him closer, and he goes willingly.

It isn’t how he imagined all of this to end. He had foreseen a much different conclusion. He had thought it would have involved much more denial, that he would have maintained a much stronger, much less pathetic front. That he would have managed to deny anything that he felt.

He didn’t think it would end with Sportacus holding him as he wept into his shoulder, his hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles against his spine. The other is flat against his back. He murmurs softly as a response to his sobbing, “It’s okay” and a gentle shushing into his ear.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not get more chapters. It depends on how well this angsty pining is received asksjkd


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